


Negative Space

by orphan_account



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when you help the hopeless, you have to start at home.  Written for amystar for Sweet Charity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Surprised by the silence? Admit it, sweet potato: you thought a soundtrack would tell you what to expect: frenetic guitars for the chase sequences, jagged rhythms for the fights, and--even you think about it once in a while, admit it--velvety violins for the moments you'll tuck in your memory forever, the kisses and goodbyes and chiaroscuro regrets. You're still sizing it all up, aren't you? Well, have a seat, enjoy a drink on the house, and let me tell you a story.

*

By all rights, Lindsey should have been across the continent, lazing in his truck with the windows rolled down and the sun in his eyes. He'd had his escape route plotted out after spending hours poring over maps, even though the only thing that mattered was _away_. If Holland Manners had let him walk out the door in the end, it was because Holland had foreseen that eventuality and had a plan. Under the circumstances--even Angel had conceded this--splitting town was the best option.

Which, of course, explained what he was doing here days later, still in Los Angeles, sitting on the curb with his guitar tucked in its case and three young men closing in on him: one pimply blond kid in an oversized sweatshirt; two different flavors of Asian, one in a red T-shirt and one all in black. They weren't standard-issue thugs, though. Red had a stake tucked into his belt.

Lindsey got to his feet, studying their faces: wary, but not hostile, and they stopped several yards away from him, Red flanked by the other two. "Can I help you gentlemen?" Lindsey said. Would Wolfram and Hart really have picked these kids as assassins?

"We got a man who wants to talk to you," Red said. "Says it's about a mutual friend."

"I'm picky about my friends," Lindsey said, when what he meant was that he didn't precisely have any.

No one was forthcoming with a name. Instead, the blond kid said, "He said to bring you in. We can do it the easy way or the hard way."

Lindsey's only weapon was the guitar, and damned if he was going to break it on some tight-mouthed hoodlum's skull. Three to one, also not good. Experimentally, he took a small step slantwise backwards, toward the intersection. All three of them tensed.

"Who wants to see me?" Lindsey said, thinking they might give him that much information at least.

"You haven't met him," Red said discouragingly. "Come on."

"Oh, just tell him," Black said. "He's going to find out anyway."

Red shot an annoyed look over his shoulder, then said, "It's Charles Gunn. Goes by Gunn."

Lindsey frowned. The name had turned up in the firm's files: a minor player with some potential to become more, not worth the resources to recruit. Thinking in those terms was appallingly easy. At least he had a salient piece of data: that this Charles Gunn was no ally of Wolfram and Hart.

"Can I bring the guitar?" Lindsey asked.

"Bring it, leave it, it's all one to me," Red said.

The four of them piled into a dark blue car. The kids let Lindsey put the guitar in the trunk himself. He didn't linger, although he saw the crossbows and bolts and stakes anyway. They drove in silence, not to some deserted parking lot or drab shelter, but to St. Matthew's Hospital.

Red let Lindsey off and waited while he retrieved his guitar. "It's all up to you from here," Red said. "Gunn will be in the lobby waiting for you. Tall black man, shaven head, green shirt. You'll know. Tell him we said hi."

"You're not going to escort me in?" Lindsey said, only perfunctorily curious.

"Go or don't go. It's up to you," Red said, and hit the accelerator.

Lindsey entered the hospital. Straightaway he saw Charles Gunn: not a stranger after all, but the man he had seen on the security camera heckling Wolfram and Hart's security, back when he and Angel had been stealing files. Gunn was standing in the uncomfortable, twitchy posture of someone who would rather be pacing. He hadn't spotted Lindsey yet; his attention had been diverted by a movie commercial on the lobby's TV, something with lots of explosions.

There was nothing else for it. Lindsey crossed the lobby and was noticed the moment he made his first step. Gunn squared his shoulders and waited for Lindsey to reach him.

"Charles Gunn?" Lindsey said, offering his hand. "I'm Lindsey McDonald."

Gunn looked impassively at Lindsey's hand, making no move to reciprocate the gesture. "Those three tell you why you're here?"

Given the circumstances, "mutual friend" could only mean Angel. "Vampire with a soul?"

"You know who's in this hospital right now, Lindsey?"

Among the people sitting in the lobby was a Hispanic family with two children, a fussy baby and a young girl reading a comic book. The parents were looking curiously at Gunn and Lindsey.

Lindsey lowered his voice. "No idea. Never been here before."

"I'm going to hope for your sake that that's true," Gunn said. "You're Cordelia Chase's brother-in-law."

What--oh. "Fine. And you?"

"I have my methods," Gunn said.

The last time Lindsey had seen Cordelia, she had been reading an article on how to paint your nails for success. "What happened to her?"

"Wish I knew. It's not just her, it's Wesley too."

Lindsey's stomach clenched. "Where's--"

"Not in here," Gunn said. "C'mon."

They visited Cordelia first. There wasn't much to see. The doctor had had her sedated. Even so, Lindsey fancied he saw traceries of agony in that slack face.

Gunn turned her hand over. There was a black symbol like a calligrapher's doodle with a loop at one end. "Doctors told me she was screaming and thrashing. She was out of her mind with the pain. We reckon it has to do with this mark."

"Where's Angel?" Lindsey said sharply.

Gunn ignored the question. "You recognize this?"

"I'm not an occultist," Lindsey began to say, then stopped. "I've seen that symbol before." Vocah. "You're in luck. I swiped files--"

"I'll send someone for them."

Lindsey patted his guitar case. "No need. They're all right here." He didn't touch Cordelia, but studied her still face. "What happened to Wesley? Does he have a mark as well?"

Gunn eyed him. "You haven't heard? I'm told these folks did you a good turn. You ever figure you owe them something?"

"Listen," Lindsey said, "I don't know exactly how you play into this, but I reckoned that the best favor I could do them was leaving town so I'd be one less target to protect."

"Which is how my contacts found you in L.A."

"I'd blame the traffic," Lindsey said, "but the truth is simple procrastination. Now will you tell me what's going on?"

Gunn frowned at the mark. "This happened to Cordelia two weeks ago. About the same time, someone blew up Angel's office. Wesley was there. Angel got him out. Wesley's been floating in and out of consciousness ever since. The doctors say he'll recover, but he's pretty banged up."

"And Angel?"

"Two weeks ago," Gunn said, "Angel asked me to protect his team while he went after the guy who did this to them. Haven't heard from him since."

"Two weeks."

"Yeah." Gunn breathed out, exasperated. "He wasn't real chatty--"

"I've noticed that about him."

"--but he was sure this guy would come after his team again. My crew hasn't seen anything but ordinary human trouble. I'm not exactly best friends with any vampire, no matter how much of a soul he has, but something that takes him down, then bides its time? That worries me."

Lindsey sat in one of the chairs at the side of the room and opened his guitar case. Behind the guitar were the files. Page by page he thumbed through them until he found the mark. "Vocah," he said. "That's his mark. He's a demon. Funny thing is..."

When Lindsey didn't complete his thought, Gunn pressed, "What?"

"Vocah's bad news," Lindsey said. "He did this to Cordelia but didn't kill her outright? Because I'm betting he could have done that instead of driving her crazy." He handed the sheet over to Gunn. "I don't have any idea what's happened to Angel, but your first step's got to be waking up Cordelia. She's his connection to the Powers That Be. She might have an insight."

Gunn compared the drawing on the sheet to the mark on Cordelia's hand. "We'd better take this to Wesley."

The nurse on duty warned Lindsey in no uncertain terms that there was to be no music. Lindsey assured her that he had no such thing in mind. She looked dubious, but didn't ask him why he had insisted on bringing the instrument inside in the first place.

They waited two hours for Wesley to wake. Gunn had the harrowed expression of a man who was becoming all too accustomed to waiting. Lindsey found his fingers shaping chords, mostly minor sevenths.

At last Wesley's eyelids fluttered open. His mouth quirked as he took in Lindsey's presence. "Water," he said in a scratchy voice.

Gunn filled a cup from the pitcher and passed it to Wesley. "No sign of Angel yet," he said, "but I've got a new lead."

Wesley scrutinized Lindsey. "I thought you were gone."

"So did I," Lindsey said, "but here we are. I have the name of the demon who almost did you in: Vocah." He handed the sheet over.

"Vocah," Wesley said, his voice flexing upward. "Am I to take it you liberated this document from Wolfram and Hart?"

"Among others."

"I wish you had trusted us with this information earlier."

Lindsey forced himself to meet the other man's grave eyes. "I wanted insurance in case Wolfram and Hart came after me. I wasn't thinking about the rest of you."

Gunn said to Wesley, "You want me to shake him upside down and see if any other pieces of information fall out?"

"Gunn," Wesley said, "he couldn't have known this would happen. Vocah would have been after--" He stopped. "The weapons cabinet," he said. "I remember now. We'd put the sacred scroll of Aberjian there for safekeeping, and I found it broken. That was when I knew something was wrong. Vocah must have stolen the scroll." His voice became brittle. "If I'd remembered earlier--"

"it's not your fault you nearly got blown up," Gunn said. "That would do a number on anyone's memory. Not to mention your boss could have given me more of a heads-up than 'Here, guard my friends while I go fight some anonymous bad guy.' Because we know there are so few of those in this city."

"That's our next step, then," Lindsey said. "Get into Wolfram and Hart and see if there's more information on Vocah, which might lead to a way to healing Cordelia. The scroll of Aberjian would be a good start."

Wesley and Gunn regarded him intently.

"You said 'our,'" Wesley said.

"I know Wolfram and Hart from the inside," Lindsey said, nettled. "You have any other renegade evil lawyers on tap?"

"Man's got a point," Gunn said. "Face it, Wesley: Angel missing, Cordelia practically comatose, you're two down and barely functional yourself. You need the help."

Wesley was starting to nod off. His chin jerked up, and he smiled self-deprecatingly. "If we could discuss this the next time I can rouse myself--"

"We're already gone," Gunn assured him. "You get rest."

Lindsey retrieved the paper and put it away. On the way out, he looked backwards. Wesley was already asleep.

*

Convincing Gunn not to storm Wolfram and Hart with his crew did not, in fact, prove necessary. Gunn sat across from him at the table and snorted at the expression that Lindsey hadn't covered up in time. "Listen," Gunn said, more amused than offended, "just because we take refuge in numbers where vamps are concerned doesn't mean we use the same approach everywhere. You think we're stupid?"

There was no good response to that. Lindsey settled for, "I wasn't sure about your tactical flexibility."

"They teach you to talk like that in law school? No, never mind that." Gunn tapped the sketch of the floor plan. "You sure it's going to be in this vault?"

"Everything's done according to procedure," Lindsey said, more confidently than he felt. "They'll amp up the protections, but they put artifacts back in the same place. Think of it as evil feng shui."

"They're not going to fall for me throwing a vampire in their lobby again," Gunn said.

"This time we won't need to sneak in a vampire," Lindsey pointed out. "On the other hand, people know my face. If I walk in they'll shoot me on sight."

"So it'll have to be me," Gunn said. "You figure I could pass as a lawyer? Didn't notice too many black folks there."

"Everyone's too busy covering their own asses to worry about demographics," Lindsey said. "Just adjust your diction and don't let anyone stop you to chat."

"I'll get my hands on a suit," Gunn said. "What about access to the vault?"

"You're going to need backup," Lindsey said, fingers tapping on the table's scratched edge. "The demon they used to have guarding it was a Preggothian, and after Angel walked away with the scroll of Aberjian in the first place, I'm thinking they probably traded up for something meaner."

"How much time do you spend dusting vampires?"

Lindsey paused. "Point taken," he said, "but it'd be wise to find out just what's guarding the vault. You don't want any nasty surprises."

"Access," Gunn reminded him.

"Passcard," Lindsey said. His was cinders: he had watched, palms sweating with the irrevocability of the gesture, as Angel burned it. The firm would have deactivated it anyway. "Get one on the black market. Sometimes the folks in the Department of Ritual Sacrifice do a little profiteering."

Gunn had been watching Lindsey's hand; he lifted his head abruptly. "Okay. I knew you all are evil--"

Lindsey decided to let the "you" slide.

"--but a whole department?"

"I know people who sent their kids there," he said flatly. "Anyway, the passes you can get that way usually aren't good for very long. But we're not talking about an extended infiltration."

"Am I going to need counterfeit work done on the passcard?"

Lindsey laughed. "They're not photo IDs. Cost-cutting measure. I still have some underworld contacts who may not have heard that I parted ways with the firm. I'll give them a try."

"You know," Gunn said, "I thought you'd put up more of a fight."

"Against Wolfram and Hart?"

Gunn's teeth flashed white. "Against me. People like you used to mess with people like me."

He didn't have to be a genius to know that the "used to" had been thrown in to soften a bitter truth. "I wasn't headed anywhere in particular when your boys picked me up," he said.

"Life doesn't have to be like that," Gunn said.

Lindsey opened his mouth to say that he hadn't meant it that way, then closed it. When he had first come to Angel Investigations with information about the child triumvirate, he hadn't been thinking far ahead. He had acted on reflex, like someone backing away or crossing their arms when their personal space was invaded. After years of telling himself he wouldn't let anything stand in the way of success, he'd found a line he wouldn't cross.

"Yeah," Lindsey said after an awkward pause. "I guess you could put it that way."

*

Gunn obtained a suit. Lindsey obtained a dead man's passcard. Cordelia looked more wan every time they visited. Wesley's condition improved.

There was still no sign of Angel.

*

"He's late," Lindsey said after checking his watch for the third time this hour.

"He'll make it back or he won't," Wesley said, although there were lines of strain around his eyes.

Lindsey resisted the urge to check his watch again. "It's too bad you don't have an extra vampire with a soul."

"You must have had extensive records on Angel at Wolfram and Hart, yes?"

"Probably half of them stolen from the Watchers' Council," Lindsey said dryly.

"Then you know as well as I do that a soul is no guarantee of doing good."

"As a human being I think I know that," Lindsey said, because it had to be said.

Wesley made a moue, acknowledging the point.

Gunn didn't return until well after dinner. Wesley was napping and Lindsey was envying his ability to sleep. "Yo," Gunn said, not too loudly, so as not to wake Wesley. He must have ditched the suit at some point. He was walking with a limp, and Lindsey bet that the baggy shirt hid other injuries.

"Is that it?" Lindsey said, nodding at the plain briefcase in Gunn's hand.

Slowly, Gunn lowered himself into the other chair. "Sure is," he said. "That Ktharos was one scary bastard." He opened the briefcase and drew out the scroll in its metal case. "I grabbed some other documents, but I didn't have a lot of time. He been resting long?"

"For a few hours," Lindsey said. "Did you have a hard time getting out?"

"The alarms went off when I touched the scroll," Gunn said, "but either I was fast or their security response time was slow. It bothers me."

Lindsey breathed out. "They could be playing games with us."

"There's no help for it now," Gunn said. "Let's wake Wesley up. Maybe he'll be able to tell if this thing is a fake or a trap or God knows what."

"I take it you haven't opened it."

"Hell, no. What if it blew up?"

"Let's not borrow trouble," Lindsey said.

"Right." Gunn hauled himself out of the seat and walked over to the bed. Gently, he shook Wesley's shoulder.

Wesley roused quickly. "Gunn," he said, not bothering to disguise his relief. He assessed the stiffness with which the other man moved. "Are you sure you don't need a doctor yourself?"

"I'm still on my feet," Gunn said. "It's nothing I can't bounce back from." He handed the scroll case over.

Wesley appalled them both by shaking it as though it were a Christmas present. It made a papery rattling noise. Lindsey let out a shaky breath. "Well," Wesley said with macabre humor, "if it's a bomb, it's not working very well." He removed the scroll and unrolled it with remarkably steady hands.

Lindsey and Gunn waited in agonizing silence as Wesley inspected the scroll. After a long while, Wesley said, "It appears to be genuine. I'd be able to give a more definitive answer if my preliminary notes hadn't been lost in the explosion."

"We have to work with what we've got," Gunn said. "Anything in there that'll help Cordelia?"

Wesley pointed to a section of text that, as far as Lindsey could tell, was just as inscrutable as the rest of it. "Here," he said. "The words of Anatole. 'And if the beast shall find thee, and touch thee, thou shalt be wounded in thy soul--and thou shalt know madness.' But the words will release her from Vocah's mark."

"So all we have to do is convince the doctors to let you visit Cordelia," Gunn said.

"Let me take care of that," Lindsey said.

The doctor deemed Wesley ready for a wheelchair. Convincing hospital staff that he should be added to the list of Cordelia's permitted visitors took longer. Lindsey ended up resorting to bribery.

"Half an hour of fancy lawyer talk and that was the best you could do?" Gunn demanded, sotto voce.

"Tactical misstep," Lindsey muttered.

Although Lindsey had last seen her just yesterday, Cordelia was paler still, like a porcelain ghost. Wesley gave a small nod and began reading the words of Anatole, carefully but not haltingly. The final line--"Unbind, unbind, unbind"--was followed by a white flash.

Lindsey blinked away the afterimages as Wesley, his face alight with hope, lifted Cordelia's hand. The mark had vanished.

"Maybe she's got to get all those sedatives out of her system," Gunn said.

But no: her fingers twitched in Wesley's grasp, and after that her eyes opened. She smiled at them, even Lindsey, although he didn't kid himself that his presence mattered to her one way or another.

"Welcome back," Wesley said, setting the scroll down in his lap.

"How long?" she asked, her voice only slightly hoarse.

"Two and a half weeks," Gunn said.

Her smile faltered. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but where's Angel?"

Wesley and Gunn exchanged worried glances. Wesley said, "We were hoping you'd be able to tell us. He went after Wolfram and Hart when you were incapacitated and never came back."

Cordelia took that in. "I had nonstop visions--" She took a deep breath, let it out, gave them a smile like iron and glass. "It's like the world runs on pain."

"You know that's not true, Cordelia," Wesley said, very gently. "We'll find the people you saw and help them."

"I know," she sighed. She arched an eyebrow at Lindsey and said, with a distinct lack of hope, "I don't suppose you're Angel in disguise?"

"'Fraid not," Lindsey said. "You didn't see him in any of these nonstop visions?"

"Are you kidding? The Powers That Be are never that helpful."

"But those visions were induced by a demon," Wesley said. "Perhaps they disrupted the, ah, ordinary flow of information."

Lindsey cleared his throat. "I'm going to put this on the table because no one else wants to: what if Angel's dead?"

"He can't be dead," Wesley said with more optimism than conviction. "The death of one of the Powers' champions would have had otherworldly repercussions. We would have felt them by now."

"I'm fine with the lawyer," Gunn said unexpectedly. "I haven't known Angel for long, but he doesn't strike me as the type to go into hiding after a fight."

"You'd be surprised," Wesley said. "But that was in his past, not the present."

Footsteps approached from the hallway. "I think the nurse is on to us," Wesley said.

"My apartment," Cordelia said immediately. "As soon as I bludgeon them into letting me out of here, that's where we'll meet to figure things out. And who knows? Maybe I'll get a vision soon."

"We could use one," Wesley said just before the nurse came in and shooed them out.

"Dennis will let you in," Cordelia called as the nurse shut the door on them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel Investigations, despite missing Angel, regroups.

Cordelia's apartment was tastefully decorated in sunny tones and was spotless despite the owner's absence. Lindsey made a point of introducing himself to the resident poltergeist. One of Cordelia's hats floated over from the rack and dipped in a bow.

Wesley said, in response to some invisible inquiry, "Yes, tea would be most appreciated. Thank you, Dennis." Seconds later, Lindsey heard the sound of a cabinet opening in the kitchen, a kettle settling itself on the stove. "Would you--?"

Gunn said, "Water's fine."

Wesley looked expectantly at Lindsey.

"Same for me," Lindsey said to be polite, although he didn't feel particularly thirsty.

The glasses floated sedately through the air, to Lindsey's relief, followed by Wesley's tea, and gave them an excuse not to talk for another several minutes. The water was perfectly ordinary.

"I think that, given recent events, it's best that someone escort Cordelia back here," Wesley said after setting his cup in the gold-rimmed saucer. "The doctor may insist on it in any case."

"It better be me," Gunn said. "Lindsey here can keep an eye on you."

"I assure you--"

"It's not that I doubt your Watcher training," Gunn said, "but he at least doesn't look like he'll fall over if you look at him sideways."

"I made it up the stairs unassisted," Wesley protested.

Gunn was unmoved. "The folks over at Wolfram and Hart sent you a message loud and clear that they play for keeps. You gonna take precautions or not?"

Wesley picked up his teacup and looked into it as though it held some essential answer. For all Lindsey knew, it did. "Fair enough," Wesley said. "We've got Cordelia back; we mustn't allow them to snatch that victory away. Lindsey. What can we expect from Wolfram and Hart?"

He considered the question. "If Angel's--inactive, they might not consider the rest of you enough of a threat to bother finishing the job. I know it's an ego blow--"

Wesley's mouth crimped. "We'll take any advantage they throw our way. What troubles me is Vocah. There are several distinct rituals he could have needed the sacred scroll of Aberjian for, and none of them are good news for us. And that's only the ones I know of offhand."

"All I know about him, I've already shared," Lindsey said. "But it's a sure bet that a demon like that will make more waves eventually."

They talked a little longer, discussing contingencies. Gunn excused himself at last to check in with his crew. "Won't take long," he said, "but it needs to be done."

After Gunn had left, Wesley turned a speculative look on Lindsey. "You could have spoken up, you know," he said.

"About...?" Lindsey said.

"Gunn volunteered you to stay," Wesley said. "We're grateful for your assistance with the scroll and other documents, but you needn't feel obliged."

"You heard him earlier," Lindsey returned. "You may have Cordelia back, but you're still missing your key player. At the least, you could use the extra pair of legs."

Wesley's eyes were quietly knowing. "In other words, you have nowhere to go."

Thinking of what he knew of Wesley's history, Lindsey said, "You know what that's like."

"Indeed." He replaced the teacup with a clink.

"Besides," Lindsey said, "Angel said something to me about resolve. I'm thinking maybe it's past time I find out what that's like."

*

The hospital released Cordelia a day later. They heard her bickering with Gunn all the way up the stairs. Dennis opened the door preemptively, sprinkling her and Gunn, who was carrying a whiteboard and a plastic bag, with confetti. "You do know who's cleaning that up, right?" she said, but the pleasure in her voice was unmistakable.

Confetti swirled up from the floor in a dance of colors. Even Gunn looked cheered.

"If I had let them they would have kept me for further testing," Cordelia said, looking away from the confetti. "They said they had no clue what had caused it and no clue how I'd gotten better, and it wasn't like I was going to stick around to enlighten them." She swept past the threshold, arms raised. "Home!"

"What's the whiteboard for?" Lindsey asked Gunn. He had set it and the bag down against a wall.

"It was my idea," Cordelia said. "Dennis, would you mind putting it up? Yes, you can take that picture down.--If we're going to find Angel, we need to be organized. Just because I haven't had a vision doesn't mean we have to sit around while we wait for the Powers That Be to get off their asses."

"So the key to organization is a whiteboard," Wesley said, bemused.

Cordelia snorted. "Do I see you offering a better way to fight the good fight?"

"Through Office Depot?"

"That's what I said," Gunn remarked.

Dennis, obviously thinking that Cordelia's wishes overrode the others' doubts, unpackaged the whiteboard and put it up. He added the dry-erase markers from the plastic bag for good measure.

"I don't see any harm in taking inventory," Lindsey said when the squabbling started to get on his nerves.

Cordelia eyed him as though she wasn't sure that, out of all the people in the room, he was the one she wanted on her side. But she said only, "I've got good handwriting."

"I'll have you know my penmanship is excellent," Wesley said.

Cordelia ignored that and took her place at the whiteboard.

They had filled half the whiteboard with what they knew--distressingly little--when the vision came. Gunn and Wesley rushed to catch Cordelia. Even Lindsey found himself on his feet, hands empty, wishing he could contribute something.

"Black man," Cordelia gasped, "demon with a red fringey mane, can't get a street name but it looks like Chinatown somewhere--" She accepted the soda that Dennis delivered to her and took a long drink, wincing. "I am so over the mind-rending pain."

"Any sense this will lead us to Angel?" Wesley asked.

"It has to," she said breezily. "I figure it's a twofer: help someone out, figure out why the boss is AWOL."

"I'll work on identifying the demon," Wesley said.

Cordelia looked skeptical. "You and what library? I thought you said all the useful books got blown up."

"Part of my collection is at my apartment and therefore survived the blast," Wesley said.

Gunn rubbed his chin. "I don't know whether it's better to consolidate resources or what," he said. "We don't exactly have the manpower to protect multiple locations against things that scary."

"Great," Cordelia said. "You're saying I'm going to have to have that dusty old book smell in here?"

"You did suggest this as a temporary office," Wesley reminded her.

"So long as it's temporary," Cordelia sniffed.

Lindsey was sure he wasn't the only one to glimpse the shadows in her eyes.

*

Lindsey's second case with Angel Investigations involved an entrepreneurial Rr'gltk demon, extortion, and, as it turned out, really unfortunate fortune cookies. Careful questioning of the client revealed no leads regarding Angel.

The next case, though differing in detail, was the same in that regard, as was the one after that and the one after _that_.

Angel had now been missing for over two months.

*

"We need a better strategy," Gunn said.

They were all sitting around Cordelia's table, finishing off the pizzas Cordelia had ordered. "I am so getting Angel to reimburse us for expenses," she said. Lindsey knew better than to express his opinion that Angel wasn't coming back. Even then she divined his thoughts and scowled in his direction.

"If the Powers are sending us in this direction"--Wesley pointed at the most recent case listed on the whiteboard--"then they have a reason."

"I'm not questioning that they do," Gunn said. "Okay, maybe I am. You'd think they'd give a little more consideration to the fact that their champion's not even on the field of battle."

Lindsey contemplated the pizza crust in his hand, then took a bite. No one remarked on it. "Guys," he said, "maybe you should cultivate alternative information sources."

"Are you saying my visions aren't good enough?" Cordelia demanded.

"I'm saying that maybe there are other avenues we haven't explored yet."

"That's almost exactly what you just said."

Lindsey grimaced. "Sorry. Bad habit."

"Do you have something specific in mind?" Wesley asked.

"I do," he said, watching their faces closely, "but it's a little off the beaten path."

"Is that lawyerese for 'dangerous' or 'unreliable' or 'ethically dubious'?" Cordelia said. "Because those are the only good reasons I can think why you wouldn't have spilled the beans earlier."

"Nothing so mundane," Lindsey said. "There's a psychic I know. Thing is, he doesn't come to you, you go to him."

"The catch?" Gunn said. "'Cause life's never complete without one of those."

"He's a demon." Lindsey grinned sardonically. "This isn't as bad as you think. His bar is a sanctuary. No violence. And there's one other thing I really ought to warn you about--"

"Spill it," Cordelia said.

Lindsey contemplated the probability that any one of the other three had more musical talent than the usual crowd at Caritas. Well, maybe he would get lucky. "You're going to have to sing."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers at Caritas are ambiguous. In the meantime, Lindsey finds Angel--but not what Angel's been up to.

Caritas was halfway full when they arrived: enough people to be a responsive audience, not so many that the place felt uncomfortably crowded. Lindsey noticed right off that three Wolfram and Hart regulars were absent. In their accustomed seats were four Cthia demons, their facial tentacles rippling and changing color as they conversed in their peculiarly sibilant language. The coincidence made him uneasy. He'd have to mention it to the others when he got a chance.

A fair-skinned woman with green hair--whether it was dyed or she was a demon he couldn't tell--sang a mournful song about moonlight and missed chances. The Host was watching her with slightly narrowed eyes, half-full glass in hand. Lindsey nodded toward him and said to the others, in a low voice, "There he is."

They took a table, Lindsey last. He felt peculiarly exposed, although those who cared to know had to have figured out by now that he'd thrown in with the white hats.

"You know, the demons way outnumber us," Cordelia said, glancing around.

"If it's any consolation," Lindsey said, "they're not all on the same side. The ones that have a side."

The green-haired woman finished her song. The Host glided forward to meet her, and conferred with her quietly. Whatever he said caused her mouth to curve downward. The Host laid a hand on her shoulder and spoke some more. She nodded, the set of her mouth becoming more determined, and moved off to order a drink.

The Host made his way toward them, smiling. "Lindsey! And here I thought you were moving on."

"I have," Lindsey said, although he wasn't sure he had earned the right to say that yet.

"So what can I do for you, chickadees?"

"We're looking for someone," Wesley said cautiously. "We'd heard you could help."

The Host regarded the four of them with sympathy. "I don't have to have any special powers to see how anxious you all are. So who's going to be first?"

Wesley, Cordelia, and Gunn looked at each other. Lindsey stifled a sigh.

"Relax," the Host said coaxingly. "It's not about your pipes, it's about your spirit."

"My spirit thinks ladies first," Gunn said.

"So chivalrous," Cordelia said.

"Do I look like a medieval knight to you?"

Wesley kept from rolling his eyes. "In order to facilitate this investigation, I'll go."

Cordelia opened her mouth, no doubt for another jibe, only to shut it when Gunn elbowed her. Lindsey was starting to wonder why, if good was this prone to petty arguments, evil hadn't taken over the world already.

The Host nodded approvingly as Wesley made his way to the front. He did not, in fact, have a notably good voice, but Lindsey had heard worse during his previous visits to Caritas. The crowd responded with polite though not entirely enthusiastic applause.

"That was a depressing song," Cordelia said when Wesley returned. "You have to think positive."

"It was the first thing that came to mind," Wesley said, which Lindsey rather doubted. Nobody sang in front of a psychic demon without the song choice revealing something about them. Wesley looked at the Host. "If you're as good as Lindsey claims you are, you know what we came for."

The Host sighed. "I wish it were that easy, sugar pea. I can only tell you what's given you to know. The good news is your boss is alive--alive, undead, however you want to call it."

"And the bad news?" Wesley said.

"Always a downside," Gunn muttered.

"The bad news is that's all I can tell you about Mr. Dark and Broody," the Host said. "Don't look so disconsolate. The message I'm getting is that things are up to all of you now, in a big way. If you ever wanted to play the Three Musketeers and D'Artagnan, now's your chance."

"But that's not helpful at all!" Cordelia protested. "Do the Powers just want us to keep doing what we've been doing?"

"And is helping the hopeless such an onerous task?" the Host said.

"We're supposed to do it _with_ Angel," Cordelia said. "Hello, it's his redemption."

"We all have things to atone for," Gunn said somberly.

"I'll let you think about that," the Host said. He turned to Lindsey. "Surely you won't leave without giving us a number? For old time's sake if nothing else."

Lindsey shrugged. "If it makes you happy." The prospect of Angel's fate being tangled up in his own destiny unnerved him. He focused on the far wall so he wouldn't have to see the desperation in the others' faces, and sang about broken mirrors, barroom brawls, the battles you fought in your head when the sun was low in the sky.

"Damn," Gunn said to Lindsey as he rejoined them, "didn't know you were that good."

"Everyone needs a hobby," Lindsey said.

The Host met his eyes for a long moment, then said cryptically, "Try not to get too drunk." Then the Host excused himself and went to intercept a spindly demon with iridescent scales.

"I'm sorry this wasn't more helpful," Lindsey said.

"We do know he's alive," Cordelia said.

"Yeah, but he could be comatose or imprisoned or who knows what else," Gunn said.

"This simply means we'll have to do the legwork the old-fashioned way," Wesley said. "Talk to people or demons. Bribe them if necessary." Cordelia groaned. "Keep working cases and build up our connections."

Gunn nodded slowly. "I'll have my boys continue to keep an ear out. But frankly, I think if there was anything to be heard, we'd have heard it by now."

They discussed the latest case over a single round of drinks, speaking obliquely of demon taxonomies and teinds to hell. Lindsey was struck by how much healthier Cordelia and Wesley looked since they had emerged from the hospital, by the easy camaraderie Gunn shared with them. For Lindsey's part, he was surprised by how easy it was to settle into an environment where backstabbing, literal or not, wasn't endemic.

"I'd better head out," Gunn said at last. "It's fun chatting with you folks, but I got responsibilities."

"Don't let us keep you," Cordelia said brightly. "My place tomorrow?"

"Sure thing," Gunn said. He was the first to leave, Lindsey the last.

*

Lindsey had never been under any illusion that his senses were much better than the human norm. So it should have come as no surprise that his stalker took him entirely by surprise just two blocks from his apartment. His body reacted before his brain had a chance to; he wasn't sure exactly when the stake got into his hand, and he didn't have the combat experience with it that he would have liked, but having it made him feel better.

"Lindsey," a voice purred out of the alley's mouth, where light cut shadows and shadows light.

He knew that voice, knew that broad-shouldered silhouette. "Angel," he said questioningly. If Angel had wanted him dead, he'd be a broken heap on the street already. Granted, Angel had a known propensity for lurking, but his approach raised Lindsey's hackles nonetheless. "We've been wondering where you got off to." He didn't lower the stake.

Step by step Angel came into the light. Strangely, Lindsey's first thought was, _He hasn't aged,_ as though two months would make any difference to an immortal creature. Angel's hair was cropped shorter than it had been. He wore black on black, small surprise. But there was a curious cynical clarity in his eyes, as though they were lamplit by hell's fires.

Lindsey would have blamed the beer he'd had for his overactive imagination, or else the late hour, but--"Angelus?" he said, mouth suddenly dry. Stupid, stupid, stupid--they should at least have asked the Host just what he meant by "alive." Did losing your soul count as dying?

He had to survive long enough to warn the others. Heart hammering, he feinted with the stake and fled. He almost thought he'd made it to the truck when an inhumanly strong hand grabbed his arm and wrenched him around. Lindsey's breath hissed out between his teeth.

"And here I was hoping you wouldn't jump to conclusions," the other man said. He let go.

Lindsey staggered, caught his balance, and--perhaps fatally--decided not to run again. "Look, if you managed to lose your soul, congratulations," he said. To his amazement, he still had the stake in hand, not that he was going to get the chance to use it. "I've read all the files on you, which is third-rate preparation for reality, but you take what you can get. I don't have any illusions I'm not going to scream, but this is a decent neighborhood and someone will call the cops." Of course, from Angelus's point of view, that might be an excellent way to order dessert.

"I'm not unsouled," Angel said patiently.

"Your evil counterpart was known for mind games," Lindsey said. "How do I know this isn't one of them?"

"'Evil counterpart,'" Angel repeated, almost with a lilt. It might have been mockery. "You want mind games, Lindsey?" He reached out and traced Lindsey's jaw with his fingertips, then ran his thumb down Lindsey's neck, barely avoiding the pulse. His hands settled on Lindsey's shoulders and drew him closer, closer.

Betrayingly, Lindsey froze rather than breaking away. Angel's grip wasn't so tight that he couldn't have made the attempt. But that reminded him of his purpose, of the people he'd thrown in with. "Where have you been?" he demanded. "Do you know that your people have been worrying themselves sick about you?"

"I hear you've been working with them."

The implication was that Angel had been aware of their search and hadn't seen fit to contact them. It took him a moment to realize that the tight sensation in his chest was anger. "Look," Lindsey said, "if I have lawyer cooties or something and you want me to get the hell away from your people before you go back to them--"

Lindsey just had time to register that one of Angel's hands had moved down to the small of his back before Angel kissed him. It was assertive and oddly tender at the same time. Angel's lips were the same temperature as the night breeze.

A stifled sound escaped him as Angel kissed a trail leading to his earlobe. Angel licked the edge of his ear once, twice. "I'm with Wolfram and Hart now," he said in a low, sinuous voice. "Give the agency my love."

Lindsey almost didn't see him leave, just a blur of shadow and the swirl of that black coat. He made himself take deep breaths. It didn't help.

He clutched the stake all the way to his apartment. Once inside, he tallied his options, then did the most sensible thing: he got comprehensively drunk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindsey tries again to find out what's gone wrong with Angel. The results are mixed.

Thanks to the hangover, Lindsey didn't make it to Cordelia's until lunchtime. "It's me," he said hoarsely. The sound of his own voice made the throbbing in his head worse.

Dennis let him in. "Chinese?" Cordelia said, waving chopsticks at him. "Ordered extra in case you showed up after all."

"Maybe later," Lindsey said.

"What happened?" Wesley said after swallowing a mouthful of lo mein. "We tried your cell phone but only got voicemail. We were about to send Gunn after you."

"Yeah, well, I turned it off and forgot to turn it back on," Lindsey said. He padded over to the empty chair. "I have bad news."

"How bad?" Gunn said.

Lindsey rubbed his temples. "I'll give it to you in order: Angel's back, I know this because he made a pass at me last night, and he says he's working for Wolfram and Hart now."

"You can't be serious," Cordelia said into the bewildered silence. "He doesn't even like you." Gunn shifted his feet. Wesley studied the far wall.

_Give the agency my love._ Lindsey deemed it impolitic to pass that message on. "Hell if I know."

"Are you sure it was Angel and not a doppelgänger of some sort?" Wesley asked.

"He looked just like Angel and sounded just like Angel, and he was as fast as a vampire and as strong as one, too," Lindsey said. "Seemed real enough for me."

"Why would Angel claim to be working for an evil law firm?" Gunn said. "He's not in deep cover or something, is he?"

"Unlikely," Wesley said. "Wolfram and Hart would never fall for it."

"I bet he's lost his soul again," Cordelia said. "After that Rebecca Lowell woman, you'd think he'd know better--"

"No," Lindsey said, "that's the one other thing that he mentioned, that he wasn't unsouled."

Wesley's eyes were intent on him. "And you believe him."

"I guess I do," Lindsey said slowly. "I'm not the one in this room who has personal experience with Angelus"--he inclined his head toward Cordelia--"but can you really see him taking orders from the Senior Partners?"

"And Angel's any more likely to do so?" Gunn said.

"Maybe he's been brainwashed," Cordelia said. "Because if he's not a fake and he's not Angelus, that's pretty much the only explanation. I mean, there are love charms and things. I've seen what happens when one goes wrong. Can you, like, completely change someone's loyalty?"

"It would have to be a powerful spell indeed," Wesley said, "but it's at least something we can research."

"And these cases?" Gunn said, looking at the whiteboard.

"We keep working the cases," Wesley said. "The Host was right. We have a duty to these people."

"Now that Angel's made an appearance," Lindsey said, "maybe he's active elsewhere, too. It's worth double-checking with our contacts to see if they have word of him."

"Sounds like we know what we're doing, then," Gunn said.

To Lindsey's great relief, no one asked him to volunteer further details of his encounter.

*

By the end of the week, they had heard from several sources about Angel. Cordelia put up a map so they could chart his appearances with pushpins. They couldn't find any pattern. Bafflingly, no one reported Angel fighting demons, fighting humans, or doing anything that would give them a better clue as to what his purpose was. Instead, all they heard about was, in Cordelia's words, "championship lurking." Gunn was coming around to Cordelia and Wesley's optimistic theory that Angel was on a mission of some sort and that all would be explained later. Lindsey was not so sanguine.

Research on brainwashing rituals that would work on vampires wasn't going much better, although Wesley declared that without Dennis's help keeping materials organized it would have been even more of a trial. "It's fortunate we have you, too," he said to Lindsey. "It stands to reason that an evil law firm would train its best and brightest in demonic linguistics as well as jurisprudence."

"Don't thank me yet," Lindsey said, frowning at his notes. "I've haven't turned up anything useful, unless you're interested in the protocols of the brain-eating caste of Mgrakh demons."

Gunn called in from patrol to say that an acupuncturist had spotted someone matching Angel's description. "Came and went like a g-h-o-s-t, she told me," Gunn said, sensitive to Dennis's feelings about the word. "Gave her the creeps."

"Yeah, well, Angel's never been a people person," Cordelia said, but her heart wasn't in it. She added another pushpin to the map. "Thanks, Gunn. Let us know if you hear anything else."

"You got it," Gunn said, and hung up.

Dinner this evening was sandwiches. By now Lindsey had become exhaustively familiar with all of Cordelia's favorite restaurants that delivered. They talked about ways to approach a possible witness to a kidnapping Cordelia had had a vision of. "You'd think the Powers That Be would turn up the brightness and contrast on these things," she said.

"Do you want more detail than you're already getting?" Wesley said.

"I guess the headaches would get worse," she said. Then she yawned. "Okay, guys, it's time for you to clear out. I'm going to have circles under my eyes if I don't get some sleep."

Lindsey put his notes into the designated binder and got up. "Goodnight, Cordelia," he said. "Goodnight, Wesley." The latter, who was wrangling some detail of the filing system with Dennis, gave him a distracted nod. Cordelia had already headed into her bedroom.

Lindsey made it most of the way to his truck before spotting the telltale silhouette. He backed away. It probably wouldn't change his fate, but the illusion that he could keep Angel from laying hands on him made him feel better.

Angel laughed softly. "Lindsey, Lindsey, Lindsey. What are you so worried about?"

"I'm trying to figure out the best strategy for not getting eaten," he said. "I have to say it's not looking good for me."

"You're not on the menu."

"Which is why you're stalking me. I don't suppose you're willing to tell me what this is all about?"

"You," Angel said simply.

_I'm with Wolfram and Hart now,_ Angel had said last time. A cold pit opened in Lindsey's stomach. He should have remembered that it wouldn't be as simple as walking out the firm's doors, like riding into the sunset; that the firm had a long memory for its traitors. But he'd made his decision. "This doesn't add up," he said, figuring that as long as Angel was standing at a gentlemanly distance from him, he might as well open a dialogue. "Why would you, of all people, ever join forces with Wolfram and Hart?"

"Maybe they made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"You'd never fall for that," Lindsey said. He wanted to bolt for the truck, but he'd never so much as get his keys out of his pocket in time. "I know you've picked up a lot of talents over the years, but I don't think contract law is one of them."

"It's not a contract so much as it is a choice," Angel said.

"That may be what they made it look like--"

Angel was shaking his head. "You're thinking parchment made from Judas goats and signatures in blood. That's not what it is. I know what I'm doing."

"I sincerely doubt that," Lindsey said. "These people are professionally evil lawyers. I should know. Any agreement you made with them is going to be riddled with loopholes and pitfalls."

"I know," Angel said. "That's what makes them predictable."

"What did they offer you that could possibly be worth allying yourself with the people who hurt Cordelia and Wesley?"

Angel circled Lindsey, footsteps nearly silent. "An apocalypse," he said. His eyes were amused.

Either Angel had gone nuts or this was Angelus after all. Lindsey didn't care for either possibility. "Vocah did this to you," he said. "Listen, we'll help you get out of this. Whatever they said, they're screwing with you. Just come with me to Cordelia's--Wesley might not have gone home yet, and Gunn's always ready for action. There's no such thing as an airtight contract. We'll figure it out together."

"You've become a real team player, haven't you?" The circle was becoming a spiral, tightening around Lindsey. "Adaptability is such a useful trait."

"I do what I can," Lindsey said.

"You realize you'll always be on the outside looking in," Angel added. "That you'll be the last one they depend on."

He gave Angel an incredulous look. "Is this your idea of divide and conquer? High school popularity games?"

"I'm just giving you fair warning. You think you've made a connection, but if you walk away, they'll tell each other that you were never reliable, that it was only a matter of time."

Lindsey said, "I didn't know you had such a low opinion of them."

For the first time there was a flicker of--sadness? regret? in those dark eyes. "They're human," Angel said. "I don't hold it against them." Now he was close enough to reach out and rest the palm of his hand against Lindsey's heart.

Lindsey told himself that Angel could already hear the pounding of his heartbeat. It didn't help. He considered the merits of backing away. The thing was, did he want to distract Angel from the current topic of conversation? "They'll be disappointed in you," he said. The only reason they weren't was that they didn't believe he had really switched sides. Angel hadn't done anything overtly monstrous, or anything monstrous, period. No wonder the others remained hopeful.

"It's a small price to pay," Angel said.

"For what?"

"Their safety."

Lindsey snorted. "You think bargaining with evil ever ends in 'safe'? That anyone's safe in an apocalypse?"

"Their terms were quite reasonable," Angel said, "and I was given certain guarantees. We both understand the importance of taking the long view."

"I missed the memo explaining why ending the world is ever a good idea."

"I'm sure that preyed on your mind a lot when you signed on."

"I don't think you're in any position to be throwing stones," Lindsey said.

When Angel removed his hand, Lindsey almost felt a pang. "Think about the world you live in, Lindsey." His voice was quietly lucid.

"You mean the one with mouthy supernatural creatures in it?" he said. "Because I've got that one covered."

"Not that," Angel said. "The world that lets people die young, or on the streets, or unvisited in nursing homes. Corrupt cops and corporations that steal from ordinary people and, yes, even evil law firms, the mundane kind. The world doesn't need demons or vampires, Lindsey. It already has human beings hurting each other in a hundred different ways. And here you are with your little detective agency, trying to solve human nature one case at a time."

"_Your_ detective agency," Lindsey said. "We've kept the name on all the cards." As Cordelia had pointed out, printing new cards would have cost money, and "Temporarily without Angel Investigations" didn't have the same ring to it. "Besides, only some of the cases involve human evil, and all the ones we get through Cordelia are supernatural."

"I'm touched," Angel said. "But I've come to terms with the way the world works. What exists here, now--it can't be fixed. Only destroyed."

Lindsey felt an overwhelming and unhealthy desire to shake some sense into him. "And your solution is to become part of the problem?"

Angel's mouth curled. "I never thought I'd find myself arguing ethics with you of all people."

Lindsey couldn't have told anyone the point at which grabbing Angel's arm crossed over from _very bad idea_ to _what the hell_. He had some vague, irrational notion of dragging the man upstairs. Come to that, where was Wesley? Had he fallen asleep on Cordelia's couch? He still tired easily.

Lindsey was faintly aware of the many different ways this would end badly. What he didn't anticipate was that Angel wouldn't resist. He wasn't precisely limp. Rather, he stepped in as though invited to a dance. By the time Lindsey realized what was going on, the distance between them could be measured in fingerspans.

"Stop messing with me," Lindsey said, agonizingly aware of the stark lines of Angel's body.

"First move was yours," Angel said. "But then, I never figured you'd be shy about going after what you want." He leaned in. "You're terribly predictable, you know."

It wasn't too late to let go, and yet--"This isn't about what I want."

Angel's eyes lit. "Why, are you trying to save me from myself?"

"It should be one of the others," he said doggedly, "but since it's just you and me..."

"You and me," Angel repeated, changing the inflection.

At this point Lindsey couldn't claim the kiss came as a surprise. It was wrong: Angel was demonstrably not in his right mind, and the part of Lindsey that was capable of rational thought informed him that his subterranean desires were best dealt with through intensive talk therapy.

He broke away and tried not to think of the peculiarly clear, saltless taste of the other man's mouth. In a shaking voice, he said, "I'm not going to pretend I didn't like that, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of controlling myself. Go wherever it is you go when you're not stalking people and leave me alone."

Angel was already gone.

This time, when Lindsey got home, he stayed up all night staring at the empty spaces on the shelves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a clue.

Gunn was late enough to the next day's meeting to be treated to the sight of a second whiteboard, this one devoted to Angel. "Should've done this earlier," he said, admiring the neatly bulleted list.

"This from Mr. 'Who fights evil with Office Depot?'" Cordelia said.

"Hey, I'm man enough to admit it when I'm wrong." He pointed at the last two items, APOCALYPSE and PROTECT FRIENDS. "Someone explain to me how these two things fit together?"

"Based on Lindsey's report," Wesley said, "Angel has come to believe that the world is irredeemably corrupt. It may be that he thinks it can only be purged of evil through destruction."

Cordelia stopped rearranging the papers in front of her in search of an elusive symmetry of lines and angles. "At least it's a nice change from big bads who want to start apocalypses just for the sake of--what?"

"Is that what he's become?" Wesley said softly. "A 'big bad'?"

"It was just a comparison," Cordelia said, but there was chagrin in her eyes.

"Angel said something about taking the long view," Lindsey said. "Maybe he's agreed to some scheme centuries from now in exchange for your safety in the present."

Cordelia scowled. "Without asking us? Next time I see him I'm going to thwack him."

"That's not a hell of a lot of information," Gunn said. "Not to criticize, Lindsey."

"But that tells us precisely what we need to do," Wesley said. "Our current sources have shown Angel wandering the city with no apparent purpose. We'll continue monitoring them in case a pattern emerges. In the meantime--"

Lindsey had a feeling he wasn't going to like what came next.

"--we need better insight into Angel's thought processes."

"You're the Watcher," Cordelia said.

"Ex-Watcher," Wesley said, slightly pained.

"Whatever. You didn't read up on vampire mid-unlife crises while you were in training?"

"Reform of vampires was hardly on the syllabus." He turned back to Lindsey. "For whatever reason, he's chosen you as his contact."

Lindsey said, "You don't need to tiptoe around the subject. The way I figure it, I'm the one he's screwing with because I'm the one he doesn't give a damn about."

"That doesn't make you any less part of the team," Gunn said.

Lindsey thought of Angel's words on the subject. "Thanks, but my ego can take care of itself. What do you need me to get from Angel?"

"Anything," Wesley said. "Any chance detail may help us discover what happened and reverse it. That being said, I have a hunch that the key lies in the event that caused him to give in to despair. I am assuming he will contact you again. Draw out your conversations as long as you can."

"As Cordelia pointed out not so long ago," Lindsey said, "Angel doesn't particularly like me. Why would he stick around to chat some more?"

"He's already done so twice," Wesley said. "Whether it's some confessional urge or a need to toy with his prey"--his tone was clinical--"something is driving him to speak to you. We may as well exploit the tendency."

"This could get Lindsey very dead," Gunn remarked.

"I can take care of myself," Lindsey said.

"Don't be stupid," Cordelia said. "No one thinks any less of you just because Angel can break you in half like a toothpick."

By now Lindsey knew not to take Cordelia's comments personally. Especially since they tended to be true.

"Besides," Wesley said, "it's not the physical realm that's the most dangerous."

Lindsey said, "I have some practice dealing with head games. I'll be fine."

*

Days passed. Lindsey began to think that he had hallucinated everything: the tall silhouette, the heart-pounding moment of illusory escape, the cool, mocking voice. He had taken to wearing a cross under his shirt, and at home he practiced with the stake, inelegant jabs and punches. Each morning at the agency, Wesley asked him if he had anything to report. Each morning Lindsey had to disappoint him with a no.

Tonight, he thought, would be no different. He had a gash in his arm from a fight with demons earlier in the evening: Gunn had asked them to provide his crew with some backup. Cordelia had bandaged the wound, but it still hurt. Damned if he was going to let them know it was bothering him, though.

Lindsey made it to his apartment door without spotting anything more threatening than elongated reflections in a broken beer bottle at the curb. Gingerly, he unlocked the door. There was something at his feet: a newspaper section.

Lindsey didn't read the newspaper at home anymore. He spent enough time doing that at the agency. He crossed the threshold, then picked the newspaper up. A cream-colored sheet of paper drifted from between the pages down to the floor.

The newspaper was nothing special: the letters column of some neighborhood rag, ads for bars and the kinds of movie theaters that showed old art house flicks. Lindsey read it twice just to be sure he wasn't missing a circled address or phone number. Nothing so obvious. He tucked it into his briefcase anyway.

The other side of the cream-colored sheet had a charcoal sketch of three people, only slightly smudged. Specifically, it showed Cordelia, Gunn, and Wesley in front of a florist's shop. Cordelia was sniffing some of the marigolds. That had been two days ago. Lindsey knew this because he had been there, too: they had needed fresh lilies, an unusually pleasant spell component for once.

He was surprised by how much it stung to be excluded from the picture, as though he hadn't existed at all, despite the fact that it was Angel--of course it was Angel, who else would have drawn this?--taunting him. The hell of it was that he knew it was entirely impersonal, that Angel was only doing this on Wolfram and Hart's behalf.

"I am not going to let you get to me," Lindsey said to the picture, regrettably aware of the irony of his words.

It was tempting to open another bottle of--actually, there wasn't much of anything left to drink. Instead, Lindsey put the picture down and called Cordelia. To his great relief, she picked up the phone after four rings. They'd all gotten used to keeping irregular hours.

"Hello?" Cordelia's sleep-blurred voice came over the phone.

"Cordelia, it's Lindsey. Sorry to wake you--"

"Just cut to the chase," she said, already sounding more alert. "You don't need backup, do you?"

"Not exactly. I think Angel just left me a message."

"You don't have any pets, do you? Or maybe I should say ex-pets."

Lindsey snorted. "Not that kind of message. It's a picture. I'll bring it in tomorrow. But I just wanted to know how worried we should be."

"Why, what's the message?" And, before he had a chance to answer, "Shouldn't you be consulting Wesley?"

Lindsey studied the phone in his hand. Why had he dialed Cordelia's number, indeed? "It's a sketch," he said. "Charcoal. Real pretty if you like that sort of thing. You, Wesley, and Gunn--you're in the center with the marigolds at the florist's the other day."

There was a pause. "Typical guy," she said. "I wasn't distracted by the marigolds. I was looking at the lavender."

"I've never been big on the language of flowers."

"Yeah, around here it's usually stinky herbs. Or fossilized gall-bladders." Another pause. "Just three people in the picture?"

"Maybe he's telling me to get the hell out of his agency," Lindsey said.

He could almost see Cordelia's grimace. "He couldn't just pink slip you like a normal boss?"

"Technically, he never hired me. And since when has your boss ever been normal?"

"That's true," Cordelia said. "Getting him to fill out the paperwork for our dental plan was a total pain. I hope you don't need a tooth drilled anytime soon. Anyway, bring the picture tomorrow. Maybe there's some other message in it."

"I'll do that," Lindsey said. "And I'm glad you're all right. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she said through a yawn, and hung up.

*

"It's a good drawing," Gunn said the next day while Wesley fussed over his tea. "Never knew Angel was artistic."

"Oh, Angelus fancied himself an artist," Wesley said dryly. "It's merely that his chosen medium was human agony."

Gunn frowned over the picture. "Don't see any agony here. I recall that being a distinctly unagonizing outing. No--what bothers me is that he got this close to us and we didn't even glimpse him."

Lindsey said, "We don't know that he was there. He could have drawn this from photos taken by someone else."

"Please," Cordelia said. "Angel would never think of anything like that. He likes to do everything himself."

"I have to concur," Wesley said. "The drawing is meant to indicate that he's watching us. Besides, Lindsey, he couldn't have removed you from the picture if he'd been using a camera."

"Just imagine Angel trying to use Photoshop," Cordelia said. "I'm surprised he ever figured out how to use a mouse."

"We should check the florist again, just in case," Gunn said. "If he's been spying on us, he could have seen us at a dozen different places. Why draw this one?"

"Florist closes at six," Cordelia said. "Do we want to hit it first, or do some more legwork on the hellhound case?"

"The hellhound is under control at the moment," Lindsey said. "I thought we didn't have to renew the ward for another three days."

"Pragmatically speaking," Wesley said, "Angel isn't an urgent matter, either. He seems to be in a holding pattern."

Gunn eyed him. "You honestly think it's going to stay that way forever?"

"It's important to consider every possibility," Wesley said.

"I would much rather be dealing with flowers than brimstone," Cordelia said.

"Speaking of flowers--" Wesley held his hand out, and Gunn passed the sketch to him. "Marigolds. Oddly appropriate."

"Do tell," Lindsey said.

"They were associated with the dead in pre-Hispanic Mexico," Wesley said, "and in the language of flowers they represent pain and grief. An interesting choice."

"That's downright communicative for Angel," Cordelia said. "Let's see if he left any other messages."

The florist was a tall Latina with a cane. When they caught up with her, she was rearranging some orchids. "Ah," she said brightly, recognizing them. "You need more lilies?"

"No, we just had a couple questions, if you have the time," Wesley said. "We're looking for a friend of ours: tall man, dark hair, goes around in a black trenchcoat or leather jacket--"

"Unfortunate use of hair gel," Cordelia added helpfully when it didn't look like Wesley's description was eliciting a reaction.

"Ah, the hair!" said the florist.

Gunn shot Cordelia an amused glance.

"Your friend, he bought some marigolds," the florist said, "but he dropped an envelope on his way out. He moved too fast for me to catch up with him."

"We'll get the envelope back to him," Gunn said. He produced two business cards and handed them to the florist. "If he shows up again, call us. Or have him call us."

The florist scrutinized the logo on the card, then shook her head. "One moment." She soon emerged from her office in the back, bearing an unsealed manila envelope.

"Why are you trusting us with this?" Lindsey asked just as Gunn took the envelope. Cordelia made a face at him.

The florist eyed him and Cordelia, then said, "I peeked, just in case. There are pictures of all of you, and some others. More friends, I don't know."

"Thank you," Lindsey said.

After they had left the florist's shop, Wesley said, "It's usually inconvenient to convince people _not_ to cooperate, you know."

"I needed to know why she was being so accommodating," Lindsey said. "Why didn't Angel simply tell her to keep an eye out for us? Or send us a letter?"

"Maybe he's spying on us even now," Cordelia said.

"Haven't seen any sign of him," Gunn said, glancing around, "but that was true the last time, too."

"There's a whole city for him to use as cover," Wesley said. "We may as well return to our base of operations and see what this visit has yielded."

Back at Cordelia's apartment, they were treated to a neatly ordered kitchen table. "Okay," Cordelia said to Dennis, "I know you're totally curious about the envelope and it sucks that you never get to go out in the field with us. So now it's your turn."

Wesley cleared his throat. "Cordelia," he said, "I doubt there are any dead goldfish in the envelope."

Dennis, unfazed, floated the envelope to the center of the kitchen table and began pulling out its contents, spreading them out in the shape of a fan. Most of them were portraits, this time in pen and watercolor wash. The last two sheets were covered with neatly typed text.

"Where to begin," Wesley said.

"If he put those papers in this order, he had a reason," Gunn said.

"Yeah," Cordelia said, "considering how much time he spent alphabetizing his musty volumes of poetry and organizing his objets d'art. Here, I'll make a record of the pages' order so we can refer to it later if we need to."

The first portrait was of Cordelia in a red dress, smiling brightly. On a table behind her were several bottles of prescription medications, two of them open and empty.

At the others' questioning looks, Cordelia said impatiently, "I have no idea. The strongest thing in my medicine cabinet is ibuprofen. Which you all should know by now."

Next was Wesley, clad in brown leather and carrying a shotgun. Stubble shadowed his jaw. At his back were sagging doorways, broken windows, cracks in the walls.

"It's nice to know Angel is thinking of ways to improve your wardrobe," Cordelia said. For his part, Wesley seemed too perturbed to come up with a rejoinder.

Third, to his great surprise, was Lindsey. He hadn't worn that suit in months now. His open palm contained a quarter and a nickel.

"Thirty silver pieces," Lindsey said sardonically. "It's nice to know what he thinks of me."

"He might simply mean that you turned your back on Wolfram and Hart," Wesley said.

"Last I checked, Wolfram and Hart wasn't the good guy."

Then came Kate Lockley, wearing a drab shirt, slacks, and an empty holster. In the alley behind her broken beer bottles glinted.

"Interesting," Wesley said. "I had understood that Detective Lockley and Angel were no longer on friendly terms."

"Maybe Angel wanted things to have turned out differently," Gunn said.

Even Dennis had a portrait. Dennis rattled the curtains at the picture of his skull covered in dust in a dimly lit, unfurnished room. For once, Cordelia didn't chide him.

Angel had drawn Gunn with a broken stake in his hand, in front of the rusted hulk of his truck.

"That's ridiculous," Cordelia said. "A broken wooden stick is still a wooden stick as far as a vampire's concerned."

"Man," Gunn said, staring at the truck, "I'd never let her get into such terrible shape."

"What if you didn't have a choice?"

Gunn said, "It's not just the truck. It's what the truck means to me and my crew."

"I suspect that's true of all of these," Wesley murmured.

The final portrait was of Faith, her back to the viewer, head canted just enough to reveal the compressed line of her mouth. Her hand rested on a motorcycle's seat, and a desolate road trickled into a faraway land of dust and dry hills.

Lindsey forced himself to study every detail. "Does he want her set free?"

Cordelia shuddered.

"If that were his intent," Wesley said, "he could surely have made arrangements with your former employers."

"All right," Gunn said, "so much for show and tell. What are the last two pieces of paper?"

Wesley picked them up and scanned the first paragraph, then offered them to Lindsey. "I believe this is your area of expertise."

Grimacing, Lindsey accepted the papers. "Wonderful." He flipped to the second sheet and found the signatures at the bottom: Holland Manners and Angel. This was a photocopy, but he bet the originals had been in blood.

Back to the first sheet. Lindsey read the contract through, feeling a headache tighten like a vise around his skull. "At least it's in English," he said, aware of the others' expectant silence.

"But what does it _say_?" Cordelia demanded.

Lindsey read it again. Then he said, "In essence, Angel promised to tender Wolfram and Hart certain services, most notably during the apocalypse, in exchange for the natural, ah, lives and safety of the named individuals: Cordelia Chase, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Kate Lockley, Dennis Pearson, Charles Gunn, and Faith Lehane. I'd say it's a fair bet that the firm doesn't consider any of you a lasting threat if they agreed to these terms."

"Hold up," Gunn said. "What kind of services?"

He frowned at the relevant paragraphs. "Non-interference with operations of their choosing. Cooperation in undertakings to be negotiated on a per-case basis. Acting as their proxy in the apocalypse. You know, this is a better contract than I would have expected from Angel."

"How so?" Wesley asked.

Lindsey's smile was crooked. "It's not tilted as badly against him as it could be."

"Let me see that," Cordelia said, snatching the papers from him. For a long moment she looked at the signatures. "That's his handwriting," she said at last. Her voice was shaking. "He really switched sides."

"He switched sides _for you_," Lindsey pointed out, feeling that it was crucial not to lose sight of motivations. "Maybe seeing people he cared about come close to death persuaded him to make this bargain."

Gunn shook his head. "It's a nice theory, Lindsey, but the man who came to me after Cordelia and Wesley got hurt and the old office went up in flames wasn't interested in bargains. He was fighting mad in that completely expressionless way of his. I was betting he'd dismantle Wolfram and Hart wall by wall to get payback."

"Still," Lindsey said, "it's a point of commonality between the man you knew and the man we're dealing with now."

"Even better," Cordelia said, "he wouldn't have put us through this whole flower rigamarole if he didn't plan something." She waved the contract at Lindsey. "Angel obviously wants help."

Wesley said, "It's a rather roundabout way of asking for it."

Cordelia sniffed. "Yeah, and when he was Angelus he spent months killing other people when he could have chomped on Buffy right from the get-go. He's perfectly capable of being roundabout. So, is there a way?" She couldn't quite conceal the worry in her eyes.

"There's a way," Lindsey said. "I can point out the relevant clauses, but it's up to Angel to take the necessary actions. And once he breaks contract, you'll all be in danger again."

"No more than you are by not being listed in the first place," she said.

"He couldn't have even if he'd wanted to," Lindsey said, looking away from the table. "Wolfram and Hart likes making examples." He remembered the warm, sudden spatter of Lee Mercer's blood across half his face.

"You don't have to do this," Wesley said.

Lindsey sighed. "If this were something Cordelia could do, or Gunn, would you hesitate to ask?"

Wesley examined the portraits again. "Of course not. But the risk--"

"I appreciate I have a choice," Lindsey said. "I know what I'm risking better than you do. Besides--" He laughed shortly. "Angel didn't have to listen to me when I asked him for help. If he needs something from me to get back on his path, I'll give it to him."

"Just let the man do his job," Cordelia told Wesley. "I mean, no offense, but you'd make a terrible lawyer. Unless you want to send in Gunn instead."

Gunn snorted. "Just because I look good in a suit doesn't mean I can win a court case. I'll stick to strategy and tactics, thanks."

"It's settled, then," Wesley said with a resigned nod.

In a way, Angel had been right. The others would never take Lindsey's commitment for granted, the way they would each other's. Earlier in his life, Lindsey would have been angry or frustrated. Now--now he understood that it didn't matter; that the important thing was to keep up the good fight whether or not anyone appreciated you for it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel reappears--and doesn't quite get what he intended.

During the next few days, they settled the matter of the hellhound, Cordelia had another vision, and Lindsey memorized Angel's contract. In his dreams, Angel's signature appeared in the vivid red of newly spilled blood. They also devised a system whereby someone would tail Lindsey at all times.

"I feel like we're being disloyal just setting this up," Cordelia said, fiddling with the pushpins on the map. She had added a gold one to mark Wolfram and Hart's location, even though their contacts had yet to spot Angel there.

"Always pays to have backup where a vampire's involved," Gunn said. "No offense."

"He'll expect it anyway," Lindsey said. "I doubt it'll spook him. He's the one with the supernatural strength and reflexes."

"Not to mention a couple centuries' worth of combat experience on us," Gunn said.

Wesley coughed. "He didn't spend all that time terrorizing humans or battling demons, you know."

"Still," Gunn said, "we don't want to underestimate him. C'mon, Lindsey. It's time to head out."

"Happy hunting," Cordelia said. Her cheerful tone didn't fool anyone.

"It's funny seeing you in a suit," Gunn said as they went down the stairs.

"It's the easiest way to signal my intent to Angel," Lindsey said, checking once more to make sure his tie was straight. He hefted the briefcase, although it wasn't as if it contained much, and forced himself to smile.

For three days running, Lindsey made himself conspicuous outside an art supply store that was theoretically within walking distance of Wolfram and Hart. On the third day he cracked and headed inside, coming out an hour later with a pad of newsprint, an assortment of pencils, and a pencil sharpener. He already knew that he had no aptitude for art, so he amused himself by drawing stick figures and brainstorming further arguments he might make on Angel's behalf.

On the fourth day, Angel rounded the corner just as Lindsey was considering taking a break at a nearby café, as though standing around doodling took that much effort. The only difference in Angel's attire was that he was wearing a charcoal-gray shirt rather than a black one. Keeping to the shade, he approached Lindsey. "This was the most discreet location you could come up with?" he asked.

Lindsey shrugged. "It was either this or the florist's, and the latter is farther from Wolfram and Hart. So tell me, what changed your mind?"

"Believe it or not," Angel said, "it's karmically embarrassing to have you fighting evil on my behalf."

"Very funny." When Angel didn't elaborate, Lindsey said, "I'm serious. If I'm going to represent you, I need to know what's going on."

"It's not a court case," Angel said. "That contract isn't enforced by anything mortal."

"That only makes it worse."

Angel's gaze was steady. "Do you know who I am, Lindsey?"

He bit back a sarcastic rejoinder and said instead, "Not anymore."

"Let's say that I did what I thought would be best for the people who mattered to me," Angel said.

Lindsey scoffed. "These are people who more or less cast their lot in with _you_ and you thought that they'd be best served by your turning coat?"

"You don't know what I know about what's to come."

"Last I checked, you weren't a seer," Lindsey snapped. Then he stared at Angel. "Is that what they did to you?"

Angel shook his head. "No, but it doesn't matter. In some ways it's nothing I shouldn't have been able to figure out for myself. Humans live such brief lives, Lindsey. It's a terrible waste when those lives are cut short."

"So it's all right to sacrifice the world's fate for the sake of some friends."

"They're my family," Angel said simply. "Surely you understand that by now."

Lindsey thought of all the convivial lunches he had shared with Cordelia, Dennis, Wesley, and Gunn; hours spent poring over Wesley's seemingly infinite collection of mystical tomes and arguing over translations; fights he had fought on the others' behalf, and times when Gunn's axe or Wesley's pistol or Cordelia's crossbow had saved him.

"Yeah," Lindsey said. "I guess I get it. But why now, and why not earlier?"

"Maybe I remember what it was like to work alongside you," Angel said. "Maybe I'm close to having to do something irrevocable on Wolfram and Hart's behalf."

Some piece of the puzzle was missing, but as long as Angel remained tight-lipped about what had happened to him, Lindsey was going to have a hard time figuring out what it was. "Fine," he said. "Have you thought through the consequences of breaking the contract?"

"I was under the impression that you wanted me to do this," Angel said wryly.

"We both know that this isn't about what I want," Lindsey said. "But there's no point in doing something like this halfheartedly."

"It has to be now," Angel said. "_Is_ it possible to annul the contract?"

"Would I have bothered coming here if it weren't?" he said. "Just let me do the talking. You're lucky it won't require trial by combat or ritual slaughter."

"Those aren't things I'm notably bad at."

Lindsey laughed shortly. "It's the principle of the thing. You want to lead, or shall I?"

They took the sewers most of the way. Angel's silent footsteps unnerved him. He kept expecting an attack, but none came.

As they emerged from the sewers into an angled swath of shadow, Lindsey finally asked, "Why have you been avoiding the agency?"

Angel's head was tilted back so he could get a better view of Wolfram and Hart's offices. "I'd say you're a part of the agency now."

"You're avoiding the question."

Angel didn't look away from the building.

Lindsey's hands were sweating. He fumbled open his briefcase, drew out the photocopied contract, and tore it in half.

As he had expected, Angel hardly reacted except to smile coldly.

"When did you figure it out?" Angel said.

Lindsey suppressed the urge to back away toward the sheltering sunlight. "'Figure it out' is a charitable term for a wild guess."

"Instinct, then," Angel said.

He didn't dare look behind him to see if the others had managed to track them successfully. "I'm not going back," he said. "Especially not if that's how you mean to seal your pact with Holland."

Without waiting for Angel's reply, Lindsey threw a punch. The smarter move would have been to draw his stake, even if the only way Angel was in danger of getting dusted was by freak accident. _You'd better be here,_ Lindsey thought at the rest of the team.

Angel paused fractionally, long enough to let Lindsey know that he could have grabbed Lindsey's arm and flung him across the street, then dodged the blow. "You didn't even ask if Wolfram and Hart wants you intact," Angel said. "Sloppy of y--"

A crossbow bolt whistled through the air and pierced Angel in the chest, slightly off-center. He staggered. Lindsey dived aside. A second bolt went true to its target, joined less than a second later by a tranquilizer dart.

"You planned this all along," Angel said hoarsely, blood trickling from his mouth.

Blaring horns and the screeching of tires told Lindsey that Gunn had arrived with his truck. Which was good, because someone was probably calling the police right this moment. "No," Lindsey said, "I _planned_ to get you free of Wolfram and Hart. Call it returning a favor."

Angel's eyelids fluttered. He took a step forward, then fell to his knees as the tranquilizer began to take effect.

Gunn hopped out of the truck. "This is going to look so good on my record," he said, helping Lindsey wrestle Angel into the back of the truck.

"Cuff him," Lindsey said.

"I'm on it. These won't hold him long if he wakes up."

"Then we better get going. Cordelia and Wesley?"

"They've got wheels," Gunn said.

It wasn't until they were halfway to Cordelia's apartment that Gunn asked, "So what went down there? We all got the signal, but I have to say that wasn't the happy fairytale ending I was hoping for."

"It was a trap," Lindsey muttered. "The idea was to lure me into the building. There was something about his language, the way he was being too careful about his phrasing, that tipped me off."

Gunn pondered that for a while. "That's a damn shame. So what's the plan now that we've got him?"

"We sit him down in a quiet room and get some answers out of him. Real ones this time."

Since Gunn had taken a twisting route to throw any pursuit off their trail, Cordelia and Wesley had arrived before them. "Great," Cordelia said, opening the door at their footsteps. "My neighbors are going to think I'm holding a bondage party."

"It gets even better," Lindsey said as he and Gunn hauled Angel up the stairs and through the doorway. "Where's the best place to put a cage in this place?"

Cordelia groaned. "I should have known my day could only go downhill after shooting my boss in the heart."

"Yo," Gunn said, "where should we put him? He's not getting any lighter."

"Oh, stick him in the bedroom," she said, vexed. "Are those itty-bitty handcuffs going to work?"

"That's what I was telling Lindsey."

Wesley brought out a length of clattering chain. "This will do for now, I think."

"Next time give us more warning if you're going to need an emergency extraction?" Cordelia said to Lindsey.

He grinned crookedly at her. "I'm lucky you were as responsive as you were."

She harrumphed.

"He's unlikely to feel cooperative when he rouses," Wesley said, rather unnecessarily.

"I'm not all that concerned about his delicate feelings at the moment," Lindsey said, thinking of what he might have walked into.

"Dennis," Cordelia said suddenly, indicating the chains. "How strong are you?"

The loose end of the chain rattled.

"So if Angel wakes up and starts trying to free himself, you can slow him down," she said.

"Always handy," Gunn said.

"Cordelia and I will keep watch here," Wesley said. "Gunn, you and Lindsey need to procure the makings of a cage."

"Got it," Lindsey said.

All the way down the stairs and to the parking lot, he couldn't help wondering if he could have done something to make that encounter come out differently. Gunn, perhaps sensing his mood, didn't intrude on his ruminations.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A.I. finally learns why Angel sold out to Wolfram &amp; Hart.

As it turned out, the cage was the easy part. Gunn knew exactly where to go for the necessary components. "It's not much different from putting together fortifications," he said matter-of-factly.

Lindsey remembered his one visit to Gunn's crew's headquarters. "I see you've had a lot of practice at this."

"Only way to get good at something is to do it a lot."

Back at Cordelia's apartment, Wesley had injected Angel with another dose of tranquilizers. "This should give us enough time to assemble the cage. If not, I can always give him another dose," he said.

"Good thing the tranks won't kill him," Gunn said.

Wesley winced. "I did the appropriate calculations for his body mass---"

"Easy, Wes," Cordelia said. "Angel will be fine. Or as fine as anyone can be when they're working for the wrong side."

Against Gunn's advice, they unchained Angel before shoving him in the completed cage, which occupied the corner where the second whiteboard had once been. "You're going to regret that," Gunn said.

"We have to take reasonable precautions, yes," Wesley said, "but there's the issue of trust."

Gunn shot him a disbelieving look. "He's already in the cage, Wesley. I doubt he'll be in a trusting place."

Lindsey crouched so he could get a better look at Angel from between the bars. Disconcertingly, Angel's visage was oddly vulnerable, as though he would rouse at any moment and ask--what? Lindsey told himself to stop imagining things. "We don't need him to trust us," he said, "just talk to us."

"He'll be hungry, too," Cordelia said. "I should get some blood from the butcher's while I have the chance." Without waiting for anyone's approval, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

Lindsey rotated the second whiteboard so it faced out again. He reread the last item: PROTECT FRIENDS. The man he had known had hated Wolfram and Hart passionately. Their attempts on Cordelia and Wesley's lives would hardly have changed that. And Angel had a healthy ego. He would have believed himself able to take the firm down by himself.

"I wish he'd wake up already," Lindsey said.

"What's the hurry?" Gunn said. "Are we up against some kind of deadline?"

"Not that I know of, but that's just the problem, isn't it?"

Angel stirred an hour and a half after Cordelia returned with a bottle of blood. Wesley readied his tranquilizer gun, looking pained about the precaution. Gunn had a stake out, just in case, and Cordelia had filled a squirt bottle with holy water. For his part, Lindsey stood behind the others, cross in hand, so he wouldn't get in the way.

Angel got to his feet in one smooth motion. He paced as far as the cage allowed, which wasn't very. "I see you've all been training," he said. Then his face softened. "It's good to see that you're well."

"Are you truly Angel?" Wesley asked. His finger was steady on the trigger.

"Why, who do you think I am?" he said. He folded his arms behind his back. "I served you orange juice and scrambled eggs and toast when you came to me. Do you remember that?"

"Angelus would know that," Cordelia said.

"I have my soul," Angel said. "You should all know by now that a soul doesn't guarantee that you'll do the right thing. It merely gives you that choice."

"What exactly do you think you're accomplishing by choosing to work for Wolfram and Hart?" Lindsey asked sharply.

"Why, do you hold grudges?"

Lindsey said, "It's hard not to take it personally when someone tries to sell you down the river."

"The point wasn't your soul," Angel said.

For some reason that didn't make him feel any better.

"It was to prove that I was corrupt enough to sacrifice--" Angel paused, considering. "Sacrifice someone who represented hope."

Lindsey laughed incredulously.

"You have to admit," Cordelia said to Angel, "right now the ex-lawyer is doing your job better than you are. Redemption included."

Lindsey didn't point out that he was far less useful in a fight.

Angel regarded Cordelia affectionately. "Some things never change."

"At least tell us what happened," Wesley said. "Help us understand."

"You're hoping there's some magic formula to dissuade me from the path I've chosen," Angel. "Wes, not so long ago you were in an ICU because you were working for me. Is that the kind of future you want to have?"

"Better that than succumbing to an illusory sense of security," Wesley said. "No life has its span of years guaranteed, Angel."

"That doesn't mean you need to hasten its end by tangling with supernatural threats," Angel said.

"Give us some credit for being able to take care of ourselves, man," Gunn said. "We've been doing all right for ourselves." He pointed at the whiteboard. "That's just this week's cases."

Angel's expression was inscrutable. "Sooner or later your successes will make you overconfident, and what then?"

Lindsey was formulating a response when Cordelia cried out. The holy water dropped to the floor and rolled away. Lindsey steadied Cordelia, keenly aware that the others were watching them when they should have been focusing on Angel. "What is it?" he said. "What do you see?"

"You," she said, but she wasn't addressing Lindsey. Angel stood upright and unsmiling, as if she were passing judgment on him. "Are you going to stay in that cage forever?"

"It's too late for me, Cordy," Angel said, almost kindly. "I've made my decision."

Her eyes squeezed shut and she grimaced, but she continued to speak. "Good and evil aren't things you decide once and for all. You have to make the choice over and over again, from moment to moment. The Powers--"

"Is that what the Powers That Be are telling you?" Angel asked. "Tell me, _what do you see_?"

"You," Cordelia said again. "Not in the cage. But you're alone. And you'll always be alone if this is what you want for yourself."

"Let me tell you a little secret about the Powers That Be," Angel said. "They're going to kill you."

Lindsey felt Cordelia tense in his arms. "That's ridiculous," she said, too quickly.

"There are two bottles of prescription painkillers in the drawer that contains your undergarments," Angel said. "That's now. In another year, there'll be four. The headaches are getting worse and worse, aren't they?"

"You never told us..." Wesley said to Cordelia.

"They're only headaches," she said, not at all convincingly.

Lindsey swore under his breath. "At the risk of sounding heartless," he said, hoping Cordelia would forgive him, "how do you know this?" Surely Dennis would have noticed if Angel had broken into the apartment.

"I know because I was there when we found out," Angel said. HIs voice was scraped dry of emotion. "I held your hand when you died, Cordy. The doctors called it brain cancer but we all knew what had really caused it."

"Of course," Wesley said, looking both fascinated and appalled. "You're from the future."

"_A_ future."

"You couldn't have told us earlier?" Gunn said.

"What good would it have done?" Angel said. "Before you ask, Wes, the ritual that brought me here is irreversible."

Wesley's eyes narrowed. "What ritual?"

"After I left you and Cordy in Gunn's care," Angel said, "I went to kill Vocah. He was ready for me--in the middle of the Ritual of Forked Paths, as a matter of fact."

Wesley closed his eyes. "You didn't."

Angel laughed mirthlessly. "You weren't in any condition to warn me about what I was getting into, remember?"

"Translation for the rest of us, please," Cordelia said.

"The ritual in question allows its casters to sift through the participant's possible futures and to replace him with a selected future self," Wesley said heavily. "It requires the self-sacrifice of a powerful demon--"

"So that's why Vocah dropped out of sight," Gunn said.

"The other thing it requires," Wesley went on, "is a _willing_ participant." He raised his eyebrows.

"Technically I was," Angel said. "I told Vocah that I wanted him dead and that I was there on my friends' behalf. He warned me that if I interrupted the ritual, I would become part of it. I was too angry to listen. It was a trap, of course."

Cordelia groaned. "Yeah, because it's such a good idea to take what demons tell you for granted."

"If it was a ritual," Lindsey said, "Vocah would have had to be telling the truth for its terms to be binding."

"_Now_ you tell him."

"I would have if I'd been aware of what was going on."

She sighed. "Well, it's done now. So what's the rest of the bad news?"

"Cordelia--" Wesley said.

She shook off Lindsey's supporting arm and rounded on Wesley. "You're all thinking it. I know it. We might as well get it out in the air."

Angel met Wesley's eyes. "You took a mortal injury defending me. We didn't make it to the hospital in time."

"There are worse ways to die," Wesley said.

"You deserved better than that," Angel said. To Gunn: "Years later, when I abandoned the agency, you hunted me down. I killed you."

"I wasn't expecting that," Gunn said after a moment.

"You should have," Angel said. "I deserved to be killed. You were--are--a good man. I'm neither."

"Let me guess," Cordelia said into the discomfited silence. "Dennis got left alone in the dark after the rest of us bit it."

Angel walked in a circle, then leaned against the side of the cage. "I assume so. I couldn't stand this place after you died."

"We're still missing three pictures," Gunn said.

"I have no idea what happened to Lindsey in my timeline," Angel said. "As far as I know, he left town to keep out of Wolfram and Hart's reach. Kate Lockley was fired for erratic behavior after her father's death, and attempted suicide."

"That's terrible," Cordelia said.

Angel glanced away. "She didn't die then. She left a message on the answering machine and we reached her in time. No; six years after joining us, she went down in a firefight. All I bought her was six years."

"Six years is more than some people get," Gunn said.

"It's still not enough."

"Faith?" Lindsey asked when it became clear that no one else was going to.

"Faith's an interesting case," Angel said. "I'm used to Slayers having a limited shelf-life, but she survived all of you. I had thought she was probably dead, and the next thing I knew, she was slamming me up against an alley wall telling me what an idiot I was."

"Yeah, that's her," Cordelia said without enthusiasm. "Wasn't she in jail?"

"She heard what I'd been doing and broke out."

"Dare I ask what she found so offensive?" Wesley said.

A corner of Angel's mouth lifted. "What do you think vampires do, Wes? I was drinking from murderers and rapists. Faith didn't approve."

"Faith with a conscience," Cordelia said. "Okay, now I believe you're from some different reality. I suppose her powers of persuasion weren't very good?"

"Give her some credit, Cordy. She tried very hard. Eloquence isn't her strong point. For a while I tried, too. But--" Angel took a deep breath, useless human mannerism that it was. "Slayers burn out over time, I guess. And Faith had had a hard life to begin with. We got ambushed by two allied gangs, one human, one demon. They hurt her pretty bad. For a while I thought she wasn't going to make it.

"After I was sure she would recover, I started hunting for a witch or shaman. I was tired of watching everyone die around me, or at my hands. I was tired of caring. I wanted my soul gone."

Lindsey heard Cordelia mutter something about some people's inability to learn from experience.

"I thought you said you had your soul," Gunn said. "I would like to end today without having to stake you."

"I didn't say I _found_ a shaman," Angel said dryly. "Or rather, Faith caught up to me while I was in the middle of negotiations. She beat me into a pulp."

"And then?" Wesley asked.

"And then she walked away."

"So even Faith gave up on you," Wesley said.

Angel regarded him strangely. "No, Wes. She left me alive. If she'd thought there was no hope, she would have dusted me. I did have an epiphany once the pain receded enough that I could think. I realized that the soul has nothing to do with it at all. You don't need to lose your soul to stop caring."

"I don't have to be a lawyer to point out the giant, glaring contradiction in your story," Lindsey said. "If you don't give a damn anymore, how can Wolfram and Hart have the hold over you that it does?"

"That was the one thing I brought to the ritual," Angel said. "I wanted Vocah dead and I wanted my friends safe. This constrained their selection. Don't you think that, given the choice, Wolfram and Hart wouldn't have preferred to end up with Angelus? But once the years have claimed all of you, there will be nothing left for me, only the apocalypse."

"There has to be some reason you're spilling all this," Cordelia said.

He raised his hand toward her, although she was well out of reach; let it drop. "Of course there is," he said. "I want you to set me free."

"News flash," Gunn said. "Confessing to drinking humans--even scum like murderers and rapists--not the best way to persuade us."

"I've told you your fates," Angel said. "If it doesn't happen exactly as I've described it, death will still come for you earlier than it should. I've bought you the best protection I know of." His eyes flickered to Cordelia, then away. "I've already sold my soul. Let it count for something."

While the others argued with Angel, Lindsey retreated to the kitchen table and wrote out the contents of Angel's contract from memory. He tapped the pen against the table. The physical cage was a non-issue. Even the contract could be disposed of if Angel acted in good faith. No: the real prison was in Angel's mind, if only they could find the key.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover who's telling the story.

The agency received a frantic phone call from a client at 4 a.m. Under the circumstances, they had all camped out at Cordelia's place. Cordelia claimed the bedroom, naturally, while Wesley headed straight for the couch. Gunn and Lindsey slept on the floor. Gunn had had the foresight to bring in sleeping bags from the truck, one of which he offered to Lindsey. Lindsey accepted.

"Excuse me," Angel said politely after the phone's first ring, "is someone going to answer that?"

"Let the answering machine get it," Cordelia called out, but Gunn, who was on watch, had already picked up the receiver. Dennis switched on a lamp so Gunn could take notes.

"The lamia's back," Gunn said when he had hung up. "If we hurry we might be able to track it down."

The lamia-plagued client was currently third on the whiteboard. They'd been trying to close that case for two weeks now.

Wesley sat up and reached for his glasses. "I'll go with you."

"I hope that cage won't fall apart," Cordelia said as she came out of the bedroom, still wearing her nightgown. She was also carrying a crossbow, already cocked. "So it's Lindsey, Dennis, and me holding down the fort?"

"I'm right here, you know," Angel said. He knocked lightly on one of the cage bars.

Cordelia waved the crossbow at him. "I think the peanut gallery needs to keep quiet."

"Good luck with that," Gunn said. "You ready, Wesley?"

"Just let me--" Wesley selected two books with cracked spines and tucked them under his arm. "I'm ready." With a last backward glance, he followed Gunn out the door.

"Actually," Lindsey said to Cordelia, "I thought we wanted him to talk."

"He's out of his mind," she said. "What could he possibly say that I'd want to hear?"

"If I could have managed this without telling you about the headaches--" Angel said.

"It's a little late for that," Lindsey remarked.

Angel approached the door of the cage and tested the lock. Cordelia immediately aimed the crossbow at him. "That's better," Angel said, sounding pleased.

"I realize I supposedly work for you," Cordelia said, "but you should remember who's on which side of the bars." She sighed. "You'd think we'd have written in some kind of 'in case of evil, break glass' clause. That, or we could call Willow."

"Re-cursing me wouldn't do any good under the circumstances," Angel pointed out.

"You're full of good news, aren't you?" she said.

"Considering he watched all of you die," Lindsey said, "he could be doing worse. Anything else you care to confess, Angel?"

"You already know what I'm guilty of," Angel said.

"If guilt's the right word for a surfeit of conscience," he said, watching the other man carefully.

"People with consciences don't bargain with evil law firms," Angel said.

Lindsey walked right up to the cage, despite Cordelia's stifled noise of protest. "You're trying that line on the wrong man," he said. "It's possible to escape. You helped me do it. Damned if I'm going to let you rot in a cage of your own making because you don't have the imagination to conceive of a better future."

"You did say you came from _a_ future, not _the_ future," Cordelia said, words tumbling out in a rush. "And you come from a future that Wolfram and Hart picked. Because we all know how much they have your welfare at heart. You're going to let them determine your destiny?" She spoiled the effect of her speech by yawning.

"Get some rest," Angel and Lindsey said almost simultaneously, then looked at each other bemusement.

"And leave you alone with him?" Cordelia said to Lindsey.

"Sleep on the couch if that makes you feel better," he said.

Angel said, "You realize it would take me all of two seconds to grab you from between then bars and smash your head open."

"I knew I should have loaded a wooden bolt," Cordelia said.

"If I were going to do it, it would have happened by now," Angel said. "I just thought I'd point out your carelessness."

Lindsey stood his ground. "What's stopping you?"

Angel returned to the corner of the cage and sat down. "Conscience," he said, as though tasting the weight of the word for the first time.

*

Gunn and Wesley reported that they had hurt the lamia badly but it had escaped through a tunnel. "Trying to handle our caseload while at half-strength is going to be an interesting challenge," Wesley said. He regarded the sleeves of his shirt, which were shredded and ichor-stained, with dismay.

"That's going to take more than a dry-cleaning job," Lindsey said.

"Yes, well. I'm afraid the shirt is a loss."

"I'm sure it would help a lot if a certain vampire got over himself and did what he was supposed to do," Cordelia said in a loud voice.

Angel didn't deign to respond.

"I've always thought that having a second chance would be a blessing," Wesley said. "Perhaps I was mistaken. Memory is its own burden, after all."

"You folks can keep an eye on Angel while you talk philosophy," Gunn said. "I'm catching some shut-eye while I can."

For the next month, Angel didn't speak at all, although he nodded his thanks to them when they delivered his daily glass of blood. At times Lindsey caught himself forgetting that the cage was there at all, as though it were nothing more than the empty space it defined. Except, of course, it wasn't empty at all.

Meanwhile, they had clients to help, and Cordelia's visions continued to arrive at odd and frequently inconvenient intervals. Lindsey overheard Wesley questioning her about the headaches once, and she snapped that she was seeing a doctor and everything was under control so could he please stop nagging her about it?

They adapted to the necessity of leaving two people to guard Angel at all times. Cordelia remarked that she was in trouble if the landlady ever came in for a surprise inspection. Dennis indicated that he would give them plenty of advance notice. This prompted an evening of brainstorming on how they'd get Angel out of the apartment without rousing suspicion. As far as Lindsey was concerned, chaining him up and sticking him in the bathtub was the best idea, and that wasn't saying much.

Another week passed. Wesley and Lindsey were arguing about honorifics in Late Middle Korean after dinner while Cordelia and Gunn kept an eye on the cage. "Okay," Lindsey said after a while, "I'm going to have to take your word on this. The vowel harmony variants alone are making my head hurt."

"Let me look at the text," Angel said unexpectedly.

"I could make a photocopy, Wes," Cordelia said, "if you don't want to risk him damaging the original."

"We're back to the question of trust," Wesley said. "How do we know he's reliable?"

"Don't tell me he knows more of the language than you do," Gunn said.

"Your faith in me is touching," Wesley said, "but I'm afraid that Altaic languages are hardly a specialty of mine."

Cordelia took the documents away from him and began photocopying them. "Our boss speaks for the first time in five weeks and all you guys want to do is argue about languages?" She retrieved the copies, then handed the original back to Wesley. "Time for positive reinforcement."

"Looks more like homework to me," Lindsey said.

"Well, he did volunteer."

Angel took the copies and read them while everyone looked on. "I'm sorry," he said.

"There's no need to be," Wesley said. "It's hardly a language I'd expect someone of your background to be familiar with."

"Not that," Angel said. "I read Korean fine. I'm sorry about the cage."

"I could have sworn _we_ put _you_ in the cage and not the other way around," Cordelia said.

He ignored that. "It's difficult to realize that you're all here. Real. Not some trick that Wolfram and Hart is playing on me. I can't unremember deaths. But maybe I can make new memories." His voice was too quiet, as though he wasn't sure of himself.

"That's all very well for you to say," Gunn said, shooting a meaningful look in Lindsey's direction, "but how do we know this isn't another ruse?"

"Easy," Lindsey said. "We take him to Caritas. And if it turns out this is a ruse, well, we accept that we have to do Angel Investigations' work without Angel's help."

Wesley said, "Will you consent to be cuffed, Angel, or need I bring out the tranquilizer gun?"

In the past weeks Wesley had obtained a much sturdier pair of handcuffs. He was conspicuously silent about where he had gotten them. Angel inspected them from an unthreatening distance and said, "Those will probably do."

Sunset arrived in under an hour. Wesley opened the cage and put the handcuffs on Angel. His hands shook, but Angel didn't take advantage of the moment to break away. Angel rode with Gunn in the blue truck; Lindsey and Cordelia followed in the pink truck; Wesley came last on his motorcycle.

* * *

This is it, Angelcakes. This is your team. What are you really trying to give them? It's not a better world on the other side of an apocalypse that they want. The future is something they get to earn day by day, through the hard work of living, just like anyone else. They're all here because of you, pumpkin pie. They're all here because you made a difference to each of them.

When you went after Vocah to save your friends, you made a choice. You told him what mattered to you. The question is, are you going to become a man worthy of that choice?

It's your turn to sing.


End file.
